


Twisted Ankles and Strong Arms

by kibasniper



Category: Psychonauts (Video Games)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Canon Era, Caring, F/F, Future Fic, Injury Recovery, Slice of Life, Strength
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-27 16:50:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15689469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kibasniper/pseuds/kibasniper
Summary: Phoebe sprains her ankle, and Crystal takes care of her. Quentin's just there to make coffee.





	Twisted Ankles and Strong Arms

“You know I can just levitate, right?”

“But that could irritate your ankle even more!”

As she tried to mask the pain from her twisted ankle with a strained smile, Phoebe knew Crystal saw right through her facade. She was never the best liar. Her words often mingled with a strained quality to them. Grainy reverberations dove off her tongue and missed their mark.

What was supposed to be a mundane afternoon of finishing paperwork had turned into a phenomenon of confused looks in the corridors, Crystal's fussing, and throbbing pain in her ankle. Phoebe couldn't believe she had been so stupid. Slipping on an empty coke can felt like a tired gag, and she was the weary fool. Her foot rolled right on the can, kicking it off against the wall and sharply curling inward. The sharp _pop_ of her tendon being strained to its limit clashed against her eardrums and reminded her of cymbals crashing together.

It took all of her willpower to not set Quentin on fire in the aftermath. He had been the one drinking coke in her office while chatting away with her and Crystal over their recent mission together, and he must have missed her garbage bin when he threw it away. She supposed she had some blame in it as she wasn't watching her feet, but Quentin could have simply bent over and put the can in its proper receptacle.

Even though she kept insisting she was fine, the grim reality set in for her. Any weight she pressed on her left foot felt like a bullet piercing her ankle, a scorching pain that traveled all over her foot. When she tried rotating her ankle, it was like needles jabbing right into her tendons.

Then, Crystal picked her up like a bride and began carrying her to one of the pantries. As Quentin trailed behind them, a wry grin worming its way onto his face, Crystal jabbered on about how she would take good care of Phoebe's ankle. All of her worrying reminded Phoebe of herself.

“Seriously, Crystal, I can levitate. This is no big deal,” Phoebe insisted, but Crystal frowned, her pace turning into a spry jog.

“Nope! I'm gonna make sure you're all set,” Crystal replied, smiling as brightly as the sun.

Phoebe rolled her eyes. She felt so childish being carried around. It was not like she was a baby and needed Crystal to take care of her. She was perfectly fine with levitating to one of the several communal pantries to elevate her leg and use some leftover bag of ice or frozen peas from somebody's unhealthy lunch to soothe her pain.

First and foremost, Phoebe was a caretaker. Looking after people and protecting them were like her bread and butter. Phoebe wanted to make sure her friends and others were doing fine and dandy with all of their emotional concerns, but being the one in need of care was rare. It seemed like there was some deity out there hellbent on making her trip up in all senses of the phrase, amused by her distress and wary feelings of being doted on by others.

Phoebe's head was pressed against Crystal's shoulder. She kept her gaze squarely on the Psychonauts emblem of Crystal's uniform, too mortified to even glance at the curious agents passing them in the hallway. A high-ranking agent such as herself being carried around made her itch with the temptation to set something on fire. Relieving any sense of humiliation would have made her feel much better, but as Crystal readjusted her, she realized she was firmly rooted in Crystal's grasp. 

Her body was tense in Crystal's arms, ones she noted had visible muscle pressing against the warm fabric of her uniform. Phoebe kept her face ducked against the crook of Crystal's neck, making sure her red hot expression wasn't visible. Even though Crystal was just an inch or so shorter than her, Phoebe glanced down and realized Crystal was far broader than her. Glancing at Crystal's back, she tilted her head when she noticed the squareness of Crystal's shoulders. It was as if Crystal was sculpted from marble with a powerful upper body to rival Athena and the toned legs of a dancer.

 _Wow. Not bad,_ Phoebe thought, her lips pressing together.

“What's not bad?” Crystal asked, glancing down at Phoebe.

“Uh, nothing, nothing at all,” Phoebe said, crossing her arms. She pursed her lips, keeping her thoughts quiet only for faint laughter to enter her mind as if the velvet chuckling glided into her ears. Narrowing her glare, she raised her fist at Quentin, whose grin began stretching into his cheeks.

“She's just not used to being taken care of, Crystal. You gotta take these things slow with her or she'll keep insisting she's okay,” Quentin interjected, floating behind them as Crystal entered one of the common pantries.

Phoebe scowled at him over Crystal's shoulder. “Well, this wouldn't have happened if you paid attention, Q. You're the one who had a huge anti-littering phase back in high school, so I expected more from you.”

“Hey, come on, Pheebs, I said I was sorry,” he said, raising his hands, and Crystal set Phoebe down into a wooden chair.

The cotton backing of the seat pressed against her, and Phoebe sank into it as if she was surrounded by pillows in her bed. She sighed, the pain momentarily fleeting as relaxation took hold of her. Glancing around the pantry, she spied the various metal cabinets filled with mugs, plates, and other cutlery fashioned with the Psychonauts emblem. Propaganda pieces that felt more at home in Oleander's mind lined the walls including posters announcing the greatest agents of the current year and Psychonauts flags with the marks of other military factions. She supposed the higher-ups were busy spending the budget on marketing to boost their status with average, non-psychic folks.

Phoebe watched Quentin round over to the counter, grabbing a pitcher of recently made coffee, and the bitter aroma wafted as Quentin poured himself a cup into a nearby ceramic mug. Turning to the girls, he offered to make them some.

“As if you need anymore caffeine,” Phoebe remarked, and Quentin shrugged, blowing steam away from the rim of his drink.

Hands gently cupped Phoebe's shin, and Phoebe snapped her attention back to Crystal. Informing Phoebe that she was going to lift her foot onto the table, Crystal slowly brought Phoebe's entire leg up onto it instead. Phoebe steadied herself, gripping the edge of the chair as she sank. Cushioned by the backing, Phoebe rolled her shoulders back and sighed.

“I can do the rest myself, Crystal. Really, I appreciate your help, but I can take it from here,” Phoebe insisted, but Crystal tutted, waving her finger.

“Sorry, Phoebe, but not a chance. You can barely put any weight on your ankle, so I'm gonna help,” Crystal said, patting Phoebe's shoulder. She flounced over to the refrigerator, tearing open the freezer and peering inside. Humming, she brushed through frigid frozen dinners and pints of leftover ice cream. 

She spotted a styrofoam dish of salmon leftovers protected by saran wrap with a note labeled “Fideleo” on it. Her brow furrowed. Raising her hand over the dish, Crystal urged herself to not be hung up on the past pain Benny had caused her like Phoebe suggested in one of their therapy sessions.

Yet, Crystal dumped the dish into the nearby garbage can and immediately felt relieved. She supposed some advice needed to be ignored in order to obtain some petty satisfaction. Benny deserved it after all.

Wrenching out a bag of ice, Crystal uttered a satisfied cheer and slammed the freezer shut. The ice cubes rustled against the plastic container and clinked together. Crystal spun on her heels back to Phoebe. As if time was slowing down, Crystal leaned forward with the bag gripped tightly in both hands. She smoothed the ice against Phoebe's ankle, and the immediate sigh escaping Phoebe's lips tickled Crystal's heart.

“That feels so good,” Phoebe said, a lazy smile beginning to form.

“Feels better, right? That's good!” Crystal cheered, her hands coming together for a crisp clap.

Watching them with a grin, Quentin waved the coffee pitcher around and asked, “You girls want any? I didn't get an answer before.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Where'd you get that cup?” Phoebe asked, and Quentin pointed at the nearby sink. “That's somebody else's cup. It could have germs on it even if it's washed. Hell, it might not be washed, and somebody could've just dumped it in the sink.”

As Crystal uttered a disgusted thrum, Quentin frowned. “I cleaned it out, and if it was reflecting in the sun, it would be gleaming all pearly white. Besides, it's one of the cups the staff leaves here for everybody.”

“Which means there's more germs if it's used by everybody,” Phoebe countered, tilting her chin and leering at Quentin with half-lidded coolness.

Rolling his eyes, Quentin finished his coffee and tossed the mug back into the sink. Taking out a paper towel roll sitting underneath the sink, he flicked on the faucet and proceeded to clean out the mug.

Crystal wrapped her arms behind her back, asking, “Anything else I can do, Phoebe?”

Phoebe smiled, shaking her head. “I'm all set, Crystal. Thanks. I guess that would've been a little bit difficult to handle-”

“Oh, Crystal,” Quentin interjected, shutting off the faucet, “Phoebe was thinking about your back when she thought 'not bad.' It was totally in reference to that.”

“Quentin!” Phoebe blurted, her eyebrows shooting to her hairline as Crystal's mouth dropped open. She shook her head, hoping to wake up from the ceaseless nightmare that was her life. “Wh-what the-? Why would you-why would you say that?”

Rummaging in his pocket, he took out a stick of peppermint gum. He unraveled the paper coating it, and as the young women watched him shove the gum into his mouth, he blew a small, blue bubble. When it popped and clung to his lips, Quentin quickly licked the sticky remnants clean.

“Quentin,” Phoebe growled, the temptation to set him ablaze burning in her belly.

“I only speak the truth,” Quentin said, setting his hand over his heart, “because that's the vow I made long ago.”

Phoebe threw her arms up, shaking them. “It is not! You-”

She was cut off by Crystal rolling her sleeve up to her shoulder. Lowering her arms, Phoebe was about to ask what she was doing when Crystal suddenly flexed her right arm at Phoebe's eye level. Quentin hooted, clenching his fists and cheering for Crystal. Phoebe gawked.

Before her was a perfectly toned, sculpted arm, one that would have made gods weep. Underneath the skin were powerful muscles carved from years of cheerleading and training in sports and kickboxing. Crystal grinned, stars illuminating in her eyes, and Phoebe felt like she was in the presence of an ancient, beautiful goddess.

“Girls are totally allowed to touch my arms! Go on!” Crystal gushed, leaning closer to Phoebe. “In fact, last week, Chloe measured my arm because she wanted to see if I'd be a good addition to her crew!”

I think she just wanted an excuse to feel you, Phoebe thought, hoping to hide her subconscious screaming.

Reaching out with fidgeting fingers, Phoebe clutched Crystal's arm. Immediately, Crystal's smooth skin and powerful muscles forced her mouth to drop open. Firmness and softness mingled with a bit of resistance pressing against Phoebe's palm. Phoebe traced her thumb along the curve of Crystal's arm, marveling and wondering if she should start praying.

“Stellar, right? That's what Chloe said,” Crystal said, a hint of pride in her voice.

Proceeding to fan herself, Phoebe tugged at her collar and replied, “It's, uh, wow. That's a good arm right there.”

“Oh, is it too hot in here? I can turn the A/C down,” Crystal said, turning on her heels, but Quentin's snickering halted her.

Quentin waved his hand as Phoebe glared daggers at him, saying, “There's no A/C in this room, Crystal. That's just Phoebe feeling-hey!”

A small, orange flare sparked at the fleece tip of his scarf, and smoke raced towards his nose. Quentin ripped his scarf off and tossed it into the sink. Throwing on the faucet, he sighed as the water doused the budding flame.

“Not cool,” he snapped over his shoulder, and Phoebe sneered.

“No need to air my dirty laundry if you can't deal with a little burn on your scarf,” she replied, raising her nose and inclining her head at him, challenging him to continue with his previous assertion.

Crystal glanced between them, her eyes scanning back and forth. Rolling down her sleeve, she thought she had done something quite helpful for Phoebe, but she still wasn't sure why all of her girl friends were keen on touching her muscles. Each time, they were left stunned and looked at her like she was an idol. She was certainly flattered albeit confused, but as Phoebe grinned at her, Crystal's heart fluttered. Sitting across from Phoebe as Quentin squeezed water out of his scarf, Crystal proceeded to dish out her daily gossip with them.


End file.
